Harry Potter and the Master of Death
by Shenrezade2099
Summary: It is Harry's Seventh Year, and most assuredly his darkest- Somehow Harry must find the remaining Horcruxes and defeat Voldemort before the Wizarding World falls beneath the Dark Lord's power. Reworking of Book Seven.
1. Chapter 1: Marks and Fables

Hary Potter© J.K. Rowling and Scholastic

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C H A P T E R O N E**

**M A R K S A N D F A B L E S**

The moonlit lane was silent save for the usual composition of nocturnal dwellers that stepped forward with the sun's routinely retreat into the west. The doldrums of the night were broken sharply, however, by two loud, resounding cracks in the evening air and the sudden appearance of a pair of silhouettes that quickly began striding up the narrow road; the taller of the two resolute in his gait and the smaller very nearly being pulled along, casting furtive glances behind him as though he feared they were followed.

The duo turned sharply to their right, passing by stately and obviously well-kept rows of sycamores on either side of them, swaying gently in the cool summer's night breeze. A very large wrought-iron gate that spanned off in both directions into a harsh, imposing wall -clearly designed to keep out those whom the owners would deem unfavorable- rose up before them. The taller of the two raised his left arm upright, never breaking his stride, and together the two marched through the gates, which seemed to turn to vapor in the midst of their passing, only to reform into a solid state once they were clear. Unheeding of the peculiar behavior of the gate, the two continued their march up the grounds, where a sizable manor stretched up before them into the sky. Very much like a miniature palace- a palace that exuded stateliness and class, yet also coldness and contempt, it would appear foreboding to men whose valor was found wanting.

A rustle in the tall hedges off to the couple's left caused the smaller one to practically leap into the air in surprise. He groped for something in the strange flowing robes he was wearing for a moment before the hand of the larger came to rest on his shoulder. "Put your wand away, Draco," he hissed in a reprimanding tone. "Or did you want to curse the head off of your father's bird?" The smaller shadow turned and looked, and sure enough a large, pure white peacock had come out of the underbrush, strutting proudly and stopping to stare at the two interlopers before turning and striding off in a different direction. Draco let out a breath and did as the taller man instructed, though he seemed resentful in doing so.

Shoulders hunched forward, he shrugged off the other man's hand and made his way forward to the large, mahogany double-doors which served as the entrance to Malfoy Manor. The doors were carved with thorn-covered vines, and on the left was a man of regal posture, bearing fine robes and holding a wand upwards in an almost militaristic salute. The right door held the same, save for a beautiful woman with long flowing tresses that stood in place of the man. Both of them were looking at each other, and the wands pointed upwards toward a phrase in Latin that was situated above the doorframe.

" _Cruor est Putus quam Unda"_

Draco cleared his throat and said in a voice that carried over the sound of a fountain in the distance "Blood is Purer than Water." He stepped back as the doors seemed to groan with a low rumble. The wizard and witch carved in the wood turned their wands to the handlebars, which swung downwards and caused the doors to open slowly, bidding the two to enter. The larger man moved forward and swung Draco around to face him. The young man looked up into black eyes that were curtained by long strands of thick, greasy hair and raised an eyebrow at this brusque action.

"Draco, you must exercise the utmost caution when speaking to the Dark Lord," he said seriously, trying to make the young boy understand. "Be sure you do not let him see your hesitance or you inability to commit the act, or he will punish you for it."

Gray eyes scowled as he threw the older man's hands off of him. "I know what I'm doing, Professor Snape," he said, practically spitting this last word out. "And don't speak to _me_ of hesitance. Why did you seem to be listening to Dumbledore's pleadings? You weren't _actually _thinking you'd spare him, were you?" He turned away, ignorant of Snape's dark look. "In any case, Aunt Bella's made sure I knew how to perform Occlumency, at my mother's insistence, if you'll remember. I know how to keep my mind closed. The Dark Lord will see exactly what I show him." With that he marched inside, the dark haired man standing in perturbed silence before tailing after him.

The two of them made their way through a large entryway, their feet silent upon the exquisite carpet that would make even the richest men green with envy. Their path was marginally lit from above by the sparse candles along the walls, portraits of pale-faced men and women watching the pair with quiet interest, occasionally whispering to each other. Draco, his shoulders stiff and set, studiously ignored their twittering while his eyes remained focused on the drawing room door ahead. He came to a stop before it and turned to look at the Potions Professor, his face bearing a very small question on its pale and somewhat harried features, despite all his bravado a moment ago. The older man merely closed his eyes in resignation and shook his head ever so slightly, which caused the young Malfoy to bite his lower lip and steel himself for what he was about to do. Placing his hand heavily on the doorknob, he turned it and stepped inside.

The Drawing room held much less furniture than it usually carried for entertaining guests of the family. A carpet bearing the crest of the Malfoy family was laid out before Draco, and off to the corner was a second doorway, closed of course, that led to the private chambers of their current houseguest. A large crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling, but its light was snuffed out, leaving the immense marble fireplace at the rear of the room the only source of illumination. Seated before it, his skeletal white hands –so very much like large, pale spiders- steepled in front of his hooded visage, sat their houseguest, calmly waiting on the boy's arrival. Behind him, Draco's mother, her hair swept back away from her face and sporting dark black robes that looked like funeral attire, made a step towards him, her eyes wide and swallowing a sob.

Narcissa Malfoy's advance, however, was halted by the movement of an inconceivably large, scaled beast, which passed by her and crept up the side of the chair, resting on the occupant's shoulders and turning its head sideways to fix Draco with an unblinking, ocher gaze. "Well, Draco," the guest spoke in a high, cold voice. "Do not keep me waiting. Come forward and tell Lord Voldemort what news you bring."

The blonde, his usually well-kept hair in slight disarray and his eyes sunken with what could only be a mixture of fear and exhaustion, swallowed hard and stepped forward, marveling at the fact that he didn't tremble. Coming within the circle of firelight, he kept his eyes averted, peering down slightly at the hem of Voldemort's robes. "I've done what you commanded," he said primly. "Dumbledore is dead. They'll be holding his funeral by tomorrow, I expect." He prayed that would be all the other man needed to hear. As long as he could keep this short, there shouldn't be anything that could go wrong.

The hooded figure surveyed him for a moment. "Dumbledore is dead," he repeated, his voice unreadable. Draco's mother looked from the Dark Lord to her son, her lip quivering slightly. "That is indeed most prodigious news. Most prodigious." Draco tried hard not to smile from the praise. He did not want to upset the Dark Lord by mistaking the context of his statement. "However, Dumbledore's death is _**not**_ the goal I requested." The boy's head shot up, a protest on his lips, only to be silenced by the sudden, yet very meaningful, hiss that the giant snake gave. Voldemort stroked her chin with a long, slender finger. "Peace, Nagini," he said, never breaking his gaze with Draco. "The goal I requested was that Dumbledore die by _your_ hand, and your hand alone. Did you accomplish this?"

Draco swallowed. The room was colder than it should have been, with such a magnificent fire roaring on the hearth. Why was it so cold? "Yes my Lord, of course," the boy replied quickly, repressing a shudder. He could feel, rather than see the gaze of the Dark Lord on him, penetrating his mind, gaining access through Draco's own portals to the outside world. He struggled valiantly to thwart the other man, but it was like trying to hold back a deluge with a paper bag. Repelling Snape's Legilimency was entirely different than trying to do the same with the Dark Lord. He understood now why Voldemort was regarded as the most powerful Legilimens in the world. The connection broke and Draco, though still upright, was panting now.

"You are lying to me, Draco," Voldemort said, his voice in a low whisper. "It seems you were unable to perform your duty, and Severus had to step in to do it for you." Narcissa couldn't squelch the sound that came out of her throat, and Nagini's other eye swung towards her, causing her to regain her composure, though she was still decidedly more pale than usual. With a small movement, the Dark Lord took his wand from the small table near him and flicked it lazily. The cuff of Draco's left sleeve was pulled forward and the boy was yanked along with it, hitched up onto the tips of his toes and dancing forward. His arm came to rest outstretched before Lord Voldemort, who took Draco's wrist in his hands and gently pushed the sleeve upwards. Narcissa closed her eyes and bit her lip, unable to gaze upon the disfigurement of her son's flesh. There on Draco's forearm was, not the Dark Mark that Voldemort's followers bore, but a horrible-looking bite mark, from something that seemed neither human nor animal. The skin around it was an ugly green color, and Draco convulsed slightly at the sight of it. "It seems that you managed to keep Greyback's mark undressed, just as I instructed. Do you remember what I said to you concerning it, Draco?" he asked quietly, looking up and into Draco's face.

The young Malfoy could now clearly see the horrible red eyes, the pupils slit very much like those of a snake's looking at him. "Y-yes," he stuttered, breaking out into a cold sweat. "Y.. You said that if I should ever f-find myself thinking about abandoning my duty, to l-look at the bite mark and think about what that would merit." Before engaging in this task, Voldemort had allowed the werewolf, Fenrir Greyback, who was in his human state at the time, to bite Draco. The bite had many detriments- Draco was now often in poorer health, and his appearance was altered from it, making him seem more gaunt and haggard now. In addition, it could not be healed, but wouldn't turn him into a full werewolf, either. Most of all, though, the bite served as a warning of the consequences the boy would suffer at the hands of Voldemort's wrath. Those consequences included the death of his mother and father, and the cursed life of a werewolf, a Half-Breed. Oh yes, Draco remembered what had been said to him upon the bestowment of the mark _quite_ well.

Voldemort nodded, releasing Draco's arm. Nagini hissed again, threateningly, as the boy backpedaled and clutched his blemished limb. "Good, Draco," he said, folding his wand arm into his lap and curling the other up to stroke the massive snake's chin once more. "It seems that while Dumbledore's death was achieved, yours was not the hand by whom it was dealt. I cannot reward you for failing to deliver the fatal blow, yet neither, it seems, can I discipline you for your inability to perform my task, since at least part of it was fulfilled." He lazily ran a finger up and down the length of his wand, considering. "What to do, then…?"

"My Lord," Narcissa said hesitantly, stepping forward. Voldemort did not turn to her, but remained silent, letting her speak what was on her mind. "My Lord, Draco _did_ manage to perpetrate the method that allowed for Dumbledore's death, did he not?" When Draco had, much to his displeasure, come home for the Christmas holiday he had confided his plan involving the vanishing cabinets to her. She was quite impressed with his resourcefulness at the time. "Were it not for him, then would not Dumbledore still be alive?" she asked, almost hopefully. "Perhaps you may simply spare him from either punishment or praise, if it pleases you?" she hastened to add.

The Dark Lord considered this, then pointed his wand at Draco, and said in a clear, concise voice "_Crucio_." Malfoy pitched over backwards, screaming at the top of his lungs. His mother, horrified, screeched and flew to her son's side, while the snake opened its mouth and hissed angrily at the commotion. Voldemort, for his part, merely looked on impassively. He was incognizant to the mother's tear-filled pleas for him to spare her son, while Draco curled in on himself, twitching and convulsing and clutching at his chest, as though trying in vain to pull the pain he was feeling out of his own body. After another minute, The Dark Lord ceased the spell, and Draco went limp, panting, while Narcissa sobbed and took his head to her breast. "Heed my words," he said quietly, addressing the both of them. Obediently the two looked at him; Narcissa's eyes wide, fearful and red with tears, and Draco's barely open and remising over the amount of pain he had just endured. "My orders are given with purpose, and they are to be fulfilled as I describe them. The fact that Dumbledore is dead is the only reason you have been spared, for now he will not be able to protect Potter from me any longer." He looked over at Narcissa, who leaned away slightly, but did not relinquish her son. "Punishment must be administered for mistakes, and I do not take advice from those whose fear for their loved ones surpasses their fear of me. Is that understood?" Narcissa nodded, stroking her son's head.

The matter apparently settled, Voldemort lowered his wand once more. "Wormtail," he said, addressing the little man who had thus far remained unnoticed at the far end of the room. "Remove young Malfoy and take him to his quarters to retire for the evening." The pudgy, balding man shuffled forward, darting glances between the Dark Lord and Narcissa. Giving her a helpless look, Wormtail took hold of the boy's robes with a curious limb that was covered in shimmering silver once Narcissa had released Draco. He then proceeded to drag the boy out by the scruff of his neck, panting and wheezing from the effort the entire way. Voldemort seemed to have dismissed Narcissa, stroking Nagini again as she stood up. "You may take your leave," he said to her. "But do not go to your son, Mrs. Malfoy. He is not a child to be coddled by you forever. I shall have the Lestranges keep watch over him to make sure you let him rest in peace. Tell Severus I wish to speak with him on your way out." The Mistress of Malfoy manor said nothing as she bowed and turned to leave.

The Dark Lord sat in silence for a few moments, his thoughts unknown to the furniture and paintings which stood witness within the drawing room. His musings were accompanied by the odd pop or crackle from the fire, and he did not look up when Snape entered and moved towards him, kneeling respectfully. "What do you wish to converse with me about, my Lord?" Snape asked as he looked up. Voldemort never wanted his servants to look away from him when they addressed him; looking away implied that they were hiding something, and Snape had no secrets from him.

"Congratulations on your achievement tonight, Severus," Snape's lips thinned. "As you no doubt saw, I chose to leave the Malfoy's alive, however I believe that Lucius shall remain where he is for a time, as it was your doing, not Draco's that finished Dumbledore off. Now, however, I am curious as to the events that transpired this night. Show them to me." As he looked into the Potion Master's eyes he saw the night's events as they unfolded. He saw Dumbledore's ancient face pleading for mercy, mercy which Snape refused to give. He saw the fight in Hogwarts between his Death Eaters and the old fool's Order. He saw the boy, Potter, giving chase and trying –and failing miserably- to detain Snape. "So you dueled Harry Potter?" he asked. It was not a question. Snape opened his mouth to offer up an excuse, but Voldemort silenced him with an upraised hand. "Do not concern yourself. I saw that you refrained until the last, and that it was not even worthy of being called a duel. In addition, you prevented others from striking him. You do me honor Snape," he said. The words, however, had none of the warmth to them that they would carry coming from another's mouth. "Tell me then, how Potter fares in battle. My Death Eaters have failed to overcome him in the past, and now I wish to know your appraisal on him, my Half-Blood Prince," he said with a wry smile that was hidden beneath the shadows of his hood.

Snape did not hesitate. "Potter is an amateur at best, and an insult at worst," he said in a sneering voice. "He cannot even grasp the basics of Nonverbal Spell casting, and he is incapable of keeping his mind closed. It is like looking into a theater when I see into his thoughts; they all perform exactly as expected." He looked very sour, as though the subject was unpleasant for him. "He is hardly worth your time, my Lord. That he has managed to best Lucius and Bellatrix is a miracle, to say the least."

Voldemort chuckled. A sound that was far from pleasant. "What is worth my time is not your concern Severus. I knew Potter to be hopeless, though I had hoped that the one who served as the face of hope for my adversaries would at least give me some enjoyment." He remained quiet for a moment, and as the seconds stretched, Snape shifted slightly. "He still remains at his home then? Where he is protected from me?"

Snape nodded. "Yes," he confirmed. "However the enchantments Dumbledore set which bar you from him shall wear off on the morning of his seventeenth birthday, at the stroke of midnight," he said. "You shall be able to take him then at your leisure, though I am sure Dumbledore made arrangements for his safe movement before his passing."

Voldmort shook his head. "I am quite well aware of the plans made for young Potter," he said, and Snape looked at him suspiciously. "Do not look so surprised Severus. The Aurors do not all defy me. A captured loved one or a promise of power will sway them just as easily as anyone else." He smiled at something then, a joke apparently known only to himself. "My eyes and ears extend much further than you know, Severus. When the time comes, I shall lead his capture myself."

Snape looked shocked. "My Lord," he said, moving closer to the Dark Lord. "Should you not wait first until you have captured the Ministry? Scrimgeour is not the fool that Fudge was, after all, and-"

"The Ministry holds no interest to me," Voldemort said, cutting him off. "I have who I need in that den of hens exactly where I need them. Trust me when I say Scrimgeour is looking where I want him to look." He gripped his wand. "A ministry devoted to the secrecy of the Wizarding World, which allows power to flow down and dilute itself amongst checks and balances. A Ministry that quakes at the very idea of exposing ourselves to those noisome sheep called _Muggles_," he spat, standing up. Nagini jerked but repositioned herself as Voldemort turned to gaze into the flames. "A Ministry such as that is meant only to be crushed beneath my heel, Severus." His grip on his wand was growing fiercer, and the snake hissed, apparently channeling her master's anger.

"When I gain power, there will _be_ no Ministry. Hogwarts shall be what Salazar Slytherin had always intended it to be; a school devoted to the teaching of Pure Bloods, who will assert themselves in their rightful place over the Mudbloods and the Muggles. And Harry Potter will be crucified and erected as a warning to all who would think to stand against me!" At this the flames roared upwards, blowing Voldemort's robes back with their violent force and causing Snape to throw his arms over his face as embers hissed and spit onto the carpet, riddling the Malfoy crest with singes.

The Dark Lord gazed into the flames madly for a moment, watching them dance before him and picturing the slow torment his foes would suffer at his hand. He saw the faces of the order in those flames, and most vividly that of his most abhorred foe, Harry Potter. After a time, however, he seemed to come back to himself and with a quick slash of his wand, the fire returned to its normal state, and he turned and seated himself back in his chair, looking down in contemplation. The shadow of his hood obscured his face from view, and Nagini shifted along his shoulders, her scales rustling the fabric of his robes. Snape watched for a moment and spoke again when he felt it was safe. "My Lord," he said, carefully considering his words. "Potter is no threat to you. He is weak and can be easily dealt with. Why do you seek his death so personally?"

Voldemort did not look up. "Because I want the world to know that I overcame their last hope," he said, his posture relaxed as though he were discoursing about the state of the weather, rather than the eventual murder of a boy. "I want to see him suffer for the embarrassments he has leveled against me. Most of all, however," and he paused for a moment, the features within the hood shifting slightly. Had Snape not know better, he could have sworn that Voldemort's lipless mouth was pulled back into an esoteric smile. "I want to do it because it is what is expected of me."

Snape was baffled by this last statement, yet wisely chose to keep his mouth closed regarding his confusion. Instead he alighted onto another concern he had. "What of the event that occurred the last time you dueled Potter?" he said, looking at the Dark Lord's wand. "I was not there when it happened, I am sad to say, but I have heard enough about it to know the details, I expect."

Voldemort began to twist his wand betwixt his long white fingers, examining it. His red eyes glittered within his hood. "Priori Incantatem, you mean?" Snape nodded. "I have no concern with that, Severus. It was brought about by a fluke and my own carelessness. My overconfidence in my impending victory, shall we say. It was a one-time event, and shall not occur again now that I know Potter lacks the mental power to shut me out. Furthermore, my 'guest' has explained to me how the spell works, so I shall not be fighting ignorant of my conditions, as before."

Snape seemed uncertain, his gaze straying to the table. There he saw a most curious sight, however. Placed atop the nightstand where Voldemort's wand was laying previously was a large book. As Snape got a better look at it his eyebrows raised slightly. A copy of _The Tales of Beedle the Bard _sat beside the Dark Lord. The image was so diametric that the Potions Master wondered for a moment if he had seen correctly. Was the Dark Lord really sitting next to a copy of children's tales? Surely it must have been placed there by someone else.

Voldemort seemed to have noticed his Death Eater's confusion and placed his hand atop the text. "Does my choice of reading concern you?" he asked, apparently amused. "Surely you know of my desire to integrate myself with all of the Wizarding World's culture, don't you?"

Snape was absolutely perplexed by this behavior. "Of course my Lord," he replied with a frown. "However that is nothing more than a book of fables, meant for children. It is meaningless."

Voldemort shook his head. "_Wizard_ children's fables, Severus," he replied in a civil tone. "I was not privy to these where I grew up, and if I am to truly become the Wizarding World's Potentate, then I must know everything about it. Even children's fables," he said, caressing the cover slightly. "And besides, Fables and Myths always bear a small hint of truth within them. It's simply a matter of finding that truth." Snape was silent, but his mind was troubled by what this meant. "Leave me, now Severus," Voldemort instructed. "There are preparations to be made for young Potter's capture, and I must conclude my reading material. Besides, you must prepare the Headmaster's office for its new occupant."

Snape did as instructed, knowing far better than to argue with the Dark Lord. As he closed the door behind him however, his thoughts –now safe from Voldemort's eyes- were stirred into a frenzied maelstrom. By all accounts, Voldemort seemed to be losing his mind. Reading a book of moralistic tripe and claiming that there was something more there? It _had_ to be madness; nothing else explained it. Just what would the impact of this be on the Dark Lord's plans, as well as the fate of his loyal Death eaters? The Potions Master was very unsettled when he found he couldn't come up with an answer to such an important question, and walked back towards the entrance of the Manor, unheeding of Narcissa, who was sobbing at the base of the stairs.

Well there you have it- the first chapter of (of all things) my take on the final book in the Harry Potter series. I feel so dirty... Anyway, I'll get more into the how and why of this once my run's finished, but for now enjoy this chapter and the others to follow.

Oh, one more thing. Usually I don't go about making requests in my own story, but I could use a Beta for this little project of mine. Anyone with credible academic skills (meaning Junior High-School/College level, here) in the fields of grammar and writing would be a big help, and if you have a fairly decent schedule, that's so much the better. My last two had to bail out on me due to scheduling conflicts, sadly. So, anyone qualified and interested may feel free to drop me a line.

See you in about a week for the next chapter.


	2. Chapter 2: After the Funeral

Harry Potter © J.K. Rowling and Scholastic

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The car within the Hogwarts express was far from its usual spirits. The four occupants were morose and silent, unaware of their own surroundings, it would seem. On one side was a boy of sixteen with raven hair that swept down his brow, slightly obscuring an ugly scar in the shape of a lightning bolt. Eyes of vibrant green looked down at the floor through worn glasses, their usual luster being lost due to circumstances that were still far too recent for his liking.

At his left was a young witch with red hair like fire, holding onto his hand and occasionally rubbing her thumb over his knuckles. Eyes of russet looked over at him in worry every now and then, obviously expecting him to look at her, but the boy continued his vigilant scrutiny of the rug below him. On the other side of train car was a tall boy with the same brilliant crimson hair as the young witch, hunched over slightly in his seat and apparently suffering the same somber mood that was permeating the car.

It was quite obvious to see the second wizard and the witch were siblings, given the exact same red-colored hair he sported. Occasionally his sharp blue eyes would move between the two periodically. Upon these infrequent studies a frown would crease his features, but whenever he opted to voice the reason for his expression, a swift jab in the ribs from the witch next to him would silence him. This particular witch, her hair a bushy, drab brown, would then give the red-headed wizard a distasteful look before sadly turning her dark brown eyes to the boy who seemed to be the focus of the room, yet remained silent. It had been like this the entire train ride, and since nothing had indicated this would change anytime soon, the oppressive silence continued.

The spell was finally broken when the door slid open and revealed another young witch with scraggly blonde hairs and large, protuberant blue eyes. She looked around at the lot and her eyes settled on the wizard with black hair. "Oh, hello Harry," she said as though ignorant of the mood in the room. Everyone looked up to her, though the raven-haired boy only the lifted his head marginally and spared her a half-hearted smile, which quickly fell. "The other cars were all full. Do you mind terribly if I shared with you all?" she asked, looking around at the lot.  
Harry Potter sat upright, his chest heaving with a deep breath. "Sure you can, Luna. You're a member of the DA., after all. You should know by now you don't have to ask permission to sit with us." He was still decidedly lacking in his usual energy, but it seemed as though he had come out of his sullen state, and that helped everyone else's moods by association.

Luna smiled at him in thanks and sat down by the red-haired wizard and bushy-haired witch. "Oh, hello Hermione, Ronald," she said as she looked over at them. They returned it accordingly, and the blonde-haired witch adjusted her necklace of butterbeer bottle caps, her dangling radish earrings wobbling around in the process. "Everybody seems very dispirited, don't they?" she asked, placing a finger against her cheek in consideration.

"Well of course, Luna," the red-haired witch by Harry's side said. "I mean… the Headmaster just died. It's a sad event. Nobody's going to be very happy so soon afterwards, are they?"

Luna seemed to consider her friend's words. "Well, I don't know, Ginny. That funeral was very beautiful, wasn't it? All of Professor Dumbledore's friends were there, and that minister gave a very lovely speech. And Harry was there too, weren't you Harry?" she asked, looking over at him, ignorant of everyone else's suddenly anxious expressions. Harry, caught off guard, could only nod slowly, trying to ignore the feelings of guilt that were trying to rise to the surface again. "That would have made the Professor the most happy, knowing you were there for him." She said with a smile. "It's sad at first, I suppose. Losing loved ones always is, really. But I don't think he would have wanted all of us to be so miserable afterwards. He would be sad to see all his students so upset that he had gone away."

Everyone seemed to consider Luna's words. The girl was positively airy most of the time, but no one could refute her statement. Knowing Dumbledore as they had, none of them could argue that he would not have wanted the students he cared for to be so morose. Harry scrubbed a hand through his hair, uncertain of how to respond. He was still struck with conflicting thoughts about the Headmaster's death and his own hand in it. The others chatted with each other while he thought about what Luna had said.

Soon enough the train was coming to the end of its journey. Ginny squeezed Harry's hand again before standing up with Luna, the pair heading towards the door. The red-haired witch gave him one last look before his brother chased her out, much to her consternation. Closing the door, he turned and looked at his two friends. "Well, now what, mate?" he asked Harry, raising an eyebrow and leaning against the door.

Harry knew perfectly well what Ron meant. Before Dumbledore had met his demise at the hands of his former trusted Potions master –whom he had begged for help from before his end and was coldly denied, no less- he had taken Harry on a mission of the utmost importance. During the year, Harry and Dumbledore together had discovered that Lord Voldemort, in his bid for immortality, had crafted six items called Horcruxes; artifacts of the darkest of magic that bore shards of the Dark Lord's own soul. As long as just one Horcrux was intact, Voldemort could not be killed, and would never die. Two of them had been disposed of- a diary Harry had pierced with the fang of a basilisk left by Salazar Slytherin, and controlled by a shadow of Voldemort. The other was a ring which Dumbledore had located and destroyed, though the Headmaster had never related the details of this. All Harry had known was that it had cost Dumbledore the use of his hand, which had been withered and blackened the entire year.

That fateful night, the two had gone to locate and destroy a third Horcrux, but tragedy struck on their return, and Harry –to his horror- had discovered that the Horcrux was a fake; Dumbledore had died for a cheap imitation, and all Harry had been able to do was watch as his Headmaster, the man who had been so much more than just another teacher to Harry, plummeted from the astronomy tower to his death. Now Harry wore the locket, as a reminder of both his failure, as well as what he was fighting for; to prevent this from happening to anyone else. Voldemort had taken enough lives, and despite his status as being the only one able to stop him, Harry had yet to accomplish anything of merit against the Dark Lord. Everyone else wound up fighting for him, and more often than not they always ended up a victim. Harry was tired of it.

Clutching the locket in his fist, he stood up and started gathering up his bags and Hedwig's cage. The beautiful white owl, who had obviously been dozing, opened up her eyes and looked around at Harry. "I'm going back to the Dursley's," he said as way of an answer. "I'm going to start getting ready. I don't know how yet, but I-"  
"Harry," Hermione interrupted. "You're not going to that place alone. Ron and I already told you that we're not letting you stay there alone. Not like this. Professor Dumbledore kept us from seeing you when Cedric died, and it nearly killed us. We don't want to shut you up by yourself again. We _**won't**_shut you up by yourself again."

Ron stepped forward, shoving his hands into his pockets. He seemed uncharacteristically determined. "She's right, Harry," he said with a frown. "We may not have been able to do anything for you then, but we're not letting you stay there for two months with those berks as company, mate. Not this time."  
Harry smiled, while Hermione gave Ron an ugly look for his choice of words. "The point is Harry," she continued, looking around at him. "We're not going to leave you alone for this. And besides, you need us. Merlin knows that you'd be helpless trying to figure out what to do on your own," she said with a warm smile towards him.

It was true. If left alone for too long, Harry knew he'd probably slip into a foul mood much like he had in fifth year, or fall into a rut on how to best approach the situation with the Horcruxes. The truth is, Dumbledore had left him nothing to work with. No instructions, no locations… He didn't even know _**how**_ to destroy the Horcruxes once he found them. All he really knew was that there was a locket of Slytherin's, a cup of Hufflepuff's, something of Ravenclaw's, Voldemort's snake, and something else. That was, obviously, not enough information for someone like him. "It's going to be difficult," he said, checking his pants to make sure he still had his wand. A crinkling of paper belied where he had placed the note from the mysterious "Rab" that he had found hidden within the locket. Between the time of Dumbledore's death and the train ride home, Harry had plenty of time to memorize what little it had to offer.

To the Dark Lord

I know I will be dead long before you read this

but I want you to know that it was I who discovered your secret.

I have stolen the real Horcux and intend to destroy it as soon as I can.

I face death in the hope that when you meet your match,

You will be mortal once more.

R.A.B.

Harry appreciated the fact that there was someone who wanted to take the Dark Lord down; unafraid of the repercussions, but now he didn't know if the locket was still intact or not. He had to figure out who "Rab" was first of all. The locket was his only lead, and he figured that it was better to look for a Horcrux he knew about before going off to look for ones he didn't. Putting thoughts of Rab, lockets, and Horcruxes out of his mind, Harry turned to Ron and Hermione. "D'you really think your families are just going to let you go through with this with all of this going on?"  
Ron grinned. "Come of it Harry," he said. "Dad knows how important your home is; Dumbledore told him all about the protections on it. It's actually probably safer than anyone else's place in the Order. Maybe even safer than Hogwarts now, come to think of it." Harry noticed that Ron didn't mention what his mother would think about this, though. He had a feeling Mrs. Weasley wouldn't exactly share Mr. Weasley's confidence.

Hermione seemed a bit more realistic. "Well, I'm sure that my mother and father won't think it's very safe, but I'll get them to see reason. This is important Harry. We don't have time to worry about how safe it is or isn't right now. Very soon I'm not sure how safe _any _place is going to be…" She frowned as she checked over her supplies. "We'll just have to stay until we can make everyone understand that we are going to your house, even if it takes all day."

Ron's eyes went wide. "All day?" he repeated incredulously. "Bloody hell, Hermione! I know we have to help Harry but-"he leaned back as Hermione shot him a look that could curl wallpaper. "Er, right. Like you said, all day if we have to, right?" he agreed, shooting Harry a harried look. Harry could only grin and shrug his shoulders, impressed with Hermione's tenacity.

Shouldering his schoolbag and taking up Hedwig's cage, Harry, Ron, and Hermione stepped out of the train and onto Platform 9¾. Around them, families were hurriedly gathering up their children. The trio saw Neville Longbottom, a fellow schoolmate, leaving with his Grandmother, who was wearing her usual stuffed vulture hat and clutching her grandson's hands in her bony fingers. He offered Harry a nod before he was dragged out of sight.

Harry looked around and saw the Weasleys chatting with each other. Arthur Weasley seemed to be speaking to his eldest sons, Bill and Charlie. Probably something about what was to happen to the Order of the Phoenix now that Dumbledore was no longer around to lead it. He couldn't see Ginny at first, but picked her out a little ways away from the other three. Molly Weasley loomed nearby was and looking between Ginny and the boys. Odds were she was there to prevent Ginny from hearing anything she shouldn't about Order business. Ron, looking positively disconsolate, set off towards his family with a determined stride, leaving Harry and Hermione alone for a moment. Harry felt some sympathy for him. "Think he'll manage?" he asked, looking after him.

"Ron's resourceful," Hermione said, though she didn't exactly sound convinced. "I'm sure he'll be fine." She looked around for her own parents, before she noticed that Harry was no longer looking at Ron, but at Ginny. She understood immediately. "You know, Ginny's a good witch. And she cares about you. Why don't you tell her? If you won't let her come with you, then don't you think she at least deserves that?"

"Because I care about _her_," he replied, shaking his head. "Ginny's safer where she is. If she knew where we were going, I know she'd probably want to come along. Or worry about me more. And I don't think I'd be able to do this if she's involved. I won't be able to keep my priorities straight." He left out that he'd be having a hard enough time doing that with Ron and Hermione with him, but he had a feeling that Hermione, at least, knew. That feeling was confirmed when he felt her take his hand and give it an understanding squeeze before she set off to find her parents.

A precursory glance told Harry that the Dursleys weren't here. Not much of a surprise. He knew they were at the station, but last year's little talk with the other Order members, combined with the fact that this place was crawling with what they endearingly referred to as "freaks" and "Harry's kind," was enough of a ward to keep them from setting foot anywhere in the station this time around. It afforded Harry a few precious moments to be alone, something he had wanted since Dumbledore's death. While they never said anything, Harry knew that Hermione, Ginny, and Ron had decided between themselves not to let him dwell on his thoughts alone, and one of them at least was always within a few feet of him.

While he appreciated their effort, he hadn't exactly been keen on the company, and his behavior had spoken as much. He remained resolutely silent at best, and cold and distant at worst, even to Ginny. It's not that he was trying to throw their concern back in their faces; He just merely felt that they couldn't understand what it had been like for him. He had seen everything that happened, and they hadn't. As such the unspoken invitation to talk about it only served to make him upset. He didn't _**want**_ to talk about it- he'd be pestered by the media for that right soon enough as it was. He just wanted to be alone and grieve by himself, without anyone worrying about him.

"What're you so glum for?" a voice chirped from behind him. There was a thump on his back and Tonks, her hair spiky and pink once more, had flopped an arm over his shoulders. "You've already got a girlfriend, mate. I didn't think you'd be trying to catch anyone else's eyes with that brooding routine. I've gotta tell ya, Harry, it only attracts the flighty ones it does."

Recovering his initial shock (Tonks had a stronger arm than she let on), Harry looked around, adjusting his glasses. "Tonks?" he asked, setting Hedwig's cage down.

"Wotcher, Harry!" she said in her usual chipper greeting. "Have a pleasant train ride? No bloody noses this time around I expect?"

Harry was befuddled as to the young auror's presence at the station. "What are you doing here?"

Tonks dusted herself off and rubbed her nose. "The Ministry's in a right state at the mo', and they decided to send some aurors to guard the station, in case any death eaters decided to get some kids for levy. Lucky me, I got stuck with the job along with a few other blokes. That Dawlish fella seems right nervous, I say. I'm wonderin' if he's really cut out for all this heavy stuff." With a grin she stood upright and looked around. "Cor, I've never seen so many dossers," she whistled. "Dumbledore's really made a dog's dinner of things, what with coppin' it and all, didn't he?"

Harry ignored the implication that this mess was Dumbledore's fault and adjusted his bag. He took a moment to get a good look at the young witch while she surveyed the crowd, obviously doing her duty like a good auror should. The last time he had seen her had been just after Dumbledore died, where she was trying to tell Lupin that she loved him, in spite of the fact that he was a werewolf. Harry's old teacher, however, seemed very recalcitrant to her advances, though it seemed to be influenced more by his status than by his feelings. This thought caused him some confusion. "Tonks, can I talk to you a second? Over there?" he asked pointing to a bench a ways away.

"Sure Harry!" she said brightly. "This lot doesn't seem to be in any danger right now, so I'm sure I can cop off for a bit." She followed him over to the bench and the pair sat down. "So, what's the skinny, then?" she asked, looking over at him.

Despite his curiosity, Harry was now a little nervous about asking Tonks such a personal question. Rubbing the back of his neck and looking away, he decided to just say it. "Tonks, if you don't mind me asking, ah… Well, what's going on with… with you and Lupin?" he asked, looking over at her out of the corner of her eyes. "I mean… well… during the whole thing with Bill and Fluer and Mrs. Weasley you…"

Tonks had gone very red-faced. It was the first time Harry had ever seen her look genuinely embarrassed. "I had almost forgotten you lot were that for that," she said, her voice a little more high pitched than normal. The tips of her pink hair seemed to droop slightly and looked decidedly mousier than before. Harry determined that it must have been involuntary. "Well blimey. I suppose I should explain m'self, shouldn't I?" Taking a deep breath, she scratched her cheek and smiled wryly. "It wasn't like that at first, really. I was new to the Order business and Lupin, well, he wasn't. I hadta admit I was curious about him, bein' James' friend and an original member of the Order back when I was still pretending I'd be a professional Quidditch player. Lupin, though, he wasn't exactly keen on talkin'. He wasn't rude or anything, mind you, just real quiet. He'd be very engrossed in his work and would always politely pass on the whole gabbin' thing, or goin' on the afters." She crossed her legs as she continued, Harry listening diligently. "At first I wasn't really interested in him. He was old enough to be me brother, and not exactly much of a looker, either, y'know? And he seemed so boring to boot. You can probably tell I'm not the type to sit still, right mate?" she asked, grinning over at him. Harry couldn't help but return in kind and the two shared a laugh. "But I always knew there was something funny about 'im. He would kip off every month and go who knows where, and he always seemed like he was hiding something, and I'm nothing if not curious. Eventually I heard Dumbledore and Snape talking about Wolfsbane potion and everything clicked."

Harry was eager to hear more. He had not taken Tonks to be the persistent type, given her nature of changing her appearance so frequently. "So what happened after you found out he was a werewolf?"

"That was the easy part," she laughed. "After I had confronted him on that, Lupin became a fortress. He wouldn't speak to me at all unless it was absolutely necessary. After about two weeks of this I was right miffed, ya know. So I showed him I was a Metamorphagus and-"

"Wait, Lupin didn't know you could change your shape?" Harry interjected, flabbergasted. "I thought everyone in the Order knew?"

Tonks grinned again. "Of course not," she replied genially. "If everyone in the Order knew that, then I wouldn't be a very good spy, now would I? Dumbledore wasn't a cabbage, after all. He trusted everyone in the Order but he knew they weren't impervious to an _Imperius _or –in Mundungus' case- cowardice." Harry thought this over. At first he thought it was surprising that he would use Tonks to keep tabs on the members, too, but upon further reflection it made sense, given who they were fighting. Besides, he probably only wanted her to stick close to anyone in the Order who started acting suspiciously. "Anyway, Metamorphagi aren't really liked in society either. Almost as much as Werewolves, though some might argue that point." She raised her eyebrows at his shocked look. "What? Don't tell me you're surprised, mate. Nobody likes being spied on, see, and being able to change your shape makes it really easy to do that. And if it's not that, then its just jealousy. People go around flapping their gums how it's unnatural to change the shape of your nose or ears at the drop of a hat, when really they all wish they could do it."

Harry rubbed at his scar then, remembering what he thought the first time he had met Tonks. Yes, he could see how people could be jealous of that sort of thing, and how it could lead to such prejudice.

"Lupin was surprised, to say the least. I guess he thought I was a bit too bubbly for being almost as much of a spod as he was," Tonks said with a shrug. "At first he didn't say anything, but the next morning we had a chat over breakfast. We weren't really good cooks, and Kreacher… well, you've seen his state. He wasn't much of the chef type. As it was, we ended up doing more talking that eating. I was right chuffed with how clever he was," she smiled for a moment, and Harry saw her features shift slightly. It was subtle but still noticeable, and then she was back to normal. "A few months after that, well, I guess we kind of hit it off, but nothing major happened until Sirius bought it."

"And that's when you two…" Harry started to say before trailing off. "So that was why your Patronus changed, and why your hair was always mousy. I had thought… well." He rubbed his arm awkwardly. "Well, I had thought you were in love with Sirius, and that your hair had gone back to its normal color or something because you were upset at his death."

Tonks burst out laughing, which startled Harry. He didn't see what he had said that was so amusing. "Sirius?" she repeated, wiping her eyes. "Oh Harry, don't get me wrong. Sirius was a right blinder, but he was my mother's cousin! At best he was like an uncle to me." Finished with her row, she wiped her eyes again, still chuckling slightly. "Besides, Sirius was more or less just a big kid. Not that there's anything wrong with that," she said, as Harry opened his mouth. "He'd be fun for a fling, but those aren't my type, really." She paused to consider this. "But y'know, neither was Remus, either. You would know that just by looking at me. But I guess sometimes that's how it goes. It just kind of hits you, even when you've known the person for a while and never even put any thought into it."

Harry frowned and looked down, lost in thought. A stray glimmer from the direction of Tonk's hand caught his eye, and he looked over at saw a simple golden ring glimmering on her finger. "What's that?" he asked, sitting up."  
Tonks blushed again, but this time didn't look embarrassed. "It's Remus'." She said in reply. Harry's eyes widened as he processed this revelation. "He got it after a talk from Arthur and Molly, bless 'em. It's not fancy, or expensive, but it's his, and that's all that matters, really."

Harry was dumbfounded. This was awfully quick. "So… so you two are married?" he asked, his voice shaking slightly. His mouth had suddenly gone quite dry.

"No, not yet," she said, with a grin and a glint in her eye. "Its way too soon, anyway. We'll be married in about a month and a half. It's not going to be big, and I don't know if there's going to be anybody there, but as long as we're together, then that's all I care about."

"I'll come," Harry said automatically, and Tonks fell into a fit of laughter again.

"_**You're**_already going to Bill's wedding, Harry," she said, cuffing him on the shoulder. "And I'm still not sure how they're gonna work that out yet. Besides, you seem like you've got more important things goin' on. Minerva mentioned somethin' about an assignment from Dumbledore right? An' I got a bet it's not a homework assignment, what?" Harry scowled and Tonks ruffled his hair playfully. "Don't let it get to you, mate. You need to stay your course, but Remus'd be glad to know you wanted to come without thinkin' about your own safety. It'll mean a lot to him. And to me too." They sat in silence for a few moments, before Tonks stretched, standing up. "Well, this has been a pleasant bobble, but I think your friends are coming for you. Try to keep your nose clean, Harry," she said, standing up and drifting off into the crowd.  
True to her observation, Hermione and Ron appeared before him only a few moments after Tonks had left. "Was that Tonks I saw you talking with, Harry?" Hermione asked, looking in the direction the auror had gone off in before turning back to him.

"Yeah," he replied, gathering his supplies up once more. Hedwig puffed out indignantly at being jostled around so much, but otherwise kept quiet. "Get this," he said to her once they started making their way towards the exit. "It turns out that Lupin and Tonks are going to get married!"  
Ron looked positively shell-shocked. "Blimey," he exclaimed, his mouth half open. "Think about old Remus getting married! I never thought he would take an interest in anyone, really."

"Well it isn't that surprising, given the way he and Tonks carried on back at Hogwarts, is it?" Hermione stated, pulling her trolley along behind her. "Frankly, I'm happy for them. Lupin could use some more cheer in her life after everything he's been through with Umbridge, the werewolves, and losing Sirius. Don't you agree, Harry?"

Harry nodded, but more to pacify her than anything else. Truth be told, he wasn't sure what to think about all of it. It was odd considering Lupin being a married man in a little over a month's time. He wondered how his former professor was dealing with it. However, whimsical thoughts of werewolves and animagi were brusquely shoved to the side as the three of them stepped through the barrier and into King's Cross station. After a moment Harry managed to pick out his Uncle Vernon, large and cross as he ever was. Harry worked his lips and his eyebrows drew down slightly. He wasn't looking forward to this.

As the trio moved from the barrier to Vernon, the large man set his jaw in a way that caused his walrus-like mustache to bristle savagely. He raised a single, thick eyebrow at the presence of Hermione and Ron on either side of him. "And what's this, then?" he asked, doing a quick check of both of them before setting his eyes on Harry. "Who're these lot? Not some ruddy keepers that Dimblefore bloke set for you, are they?"

"No, these are my friends, Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley," Harry said, looking up with an unpleasant scowl on his face. "And it's Dumbledore, not Dimblefore." This was going to be very difficult. The Dursleys absolutely loathed two things; Magic and the idea of Harry being happy. Being that having friends usually meant that someone was happy, it was no surprise that Vernon's eyebrows rose up into his hairline as he quickly scrutinized Ron and Hermione again.

"Friends?" he asked incredulously. "You mean these two nutters are the ones responsible for that bleeding bird-" mutual outcries from Ron and Hedwig cause Vernon to back up and look around nervously. As no one had noticed the commotion, he wiped his brow and let out a relieved sigh before continuing. "As I was saying, I have you two to thank for the mess my house has been in for the past few years, I take it." He frowned at Ron, who shifted slightly but looked right back at him defiantly. "I recognize that hair…" Vernon muttered. "You were with that bloke who made my living room explode! You and that oddball family of yours came right out of my fireplace and turned my parlor into a pig-sty! Do you know how hard Petunia had to work to get all of that soot off of everything!? And on top of that that brother of yours turned my son's tongue into a ruddy python that nearly choked him to death!"

Hermione raised an eyebrow and looked at Harry and Ron. Ron seemed to quail a bit, but Harry remained resolute. He was quite used to this. "Actually, Uncle Vernon, if you remember, Ron's dad was the one who helped Dudley. And it didn't turn his tongue into a snake, it just made it really big." Seven feet, actually, but Harry didn't think he needed to reiterate that information.

"THAT'S NOT THE POINT AND YOU KNOW IT!" Vernon roared. This caused several passer-bys to look around at him, and in a quick move he grabbed Harry around the shoulders and smiled at them disarmingly. Apparently deciding that it was nothing, they went on their way, and Vernon released his grip on Harry as though he were a vile, disgusting slug. "Your kind has caused nothing but trouble for me, boy, ever since the day that giant broke our door down and gave my son a pig's tail! And then you go and drop a pudding on my employer's head-"  
"That wasn't me, it was a house elf!" Harry said. "And he was doing it to try and protect me!" Dobby had chosen a very poor method to do so, but his heart was in the right place and Harry had long since forgiven him his blunders in his second year.

"I don't care if it was a house elf or a house plant!" Vernon said, puffing up dangerously and his face taking on an ugly purple shade. "It was still your fault! And what about that flying car that tore off the front off my house? Or my son almost getting his… his soul sucked out of his mouth by those dementy things!? And then there was that Dinglemore-"

"Dumbledore!" Ron and Harry shot back.

"I DON'T CARE!" Vernon shouted again. "He shows up and has the nerve to try and bludgeon us with martini glasses! And let's not forget about all those blasted owls coming in at all hours of the day and night, disturbing my family's peace and quiet, leaving droppings and feathers and who knows what else on our kitchen table and floor! Our life has been one big fat mess because of you, that's all there is to it!" The large man cut off abruptly, huffing and puffing. His face returned back to a calmer reddish hue as he swept a hand through his hair to compose himself. "What are they even doing here, anyway? I know the both of them have families, I've seen them when I come to pick _you _up."

This was the part Harry wasn't looking forward to. Although part of him hoped that Hermione and Ron wouldn't try to contend the point. He had hated his life with Dursleys, and exposing them to it felt like he would be soiling them in some way. Still, he knew better than to argue the point, so he just had to see if Uncle Vernon's mule-headedness would be enough to steer them away from their current course. "Actually, they're coming to stay with me. Until my birthday." He said, stiffening his shoulders. "And then we're going to be leaving and I'll be out of your hair."

Vernon's eyes bulged out of his head. Harry actually thought for a moment they would pop out and land on the ground, as wide as they were getting. "They're WHAT!?" Vernon asked, aghast. "No, no I don't think so. Absolutely not! I have enough to deal with with just you around! I'm not having two more of your lot staying around in _**my **_household for two bloody months, do you hear me? I won't have it!"

"Oh yeah?" Ron said, suddenly gaining back his confidence. "Well what if we say otherwise?"

Vernon's eyes swiveled around to look at Ron, sizing him up. "Oh, I know about that whole… thing… you do. HE," he said, jabbing a sausage-like finger at Harry. "Got a note about it from your… your ministry. You lot can't do your little tricks until your seventeen, can you? And you've still got one more year at that mental ward you call a school left, so you're still too young, aren't you?"

Ron was frowning in consternation, but had nothing to say in reply. Uncle Vernon, smug in his little victory, stood up straight and folded his thick arms over his even thicker chest. Surprisingly, though, it was Hermione who spoke up. "Actually, Mr. Dursley sir, you're right; according to our laws, the decree of under-age wizardy states that no wizard or witch may perform magic until they come of age. Furthermore, the International Statute of Secrecy states that, except in rare cases, Wizards and Witches cannot perform magic in front of muggles."

Vernon got a little paler every time Hermione mentioned the "W" words, and near the end of it he was looking around him wildly, terrified that someone had noticed her using them so liberally. However, once she was finished, Vernon stared at her dumbly for a moment before looking back at Harry and smiling in savage triumph. "Ah-hah! See! You can't do anything because you're not allowed!" Harry hated to admit it, but his uncle was right. He couldn't understand what Hermione was getting at. Ron, for his part, looked absolutely livid and stared at Hermione as if she had just committed some great transgression.

"Actually, I wasn't finished, sir," Hermione said. "Given the exceptional circumstances you spoke of, it seems quite obvious that you and your family are an exception to the Statute. Furthermore, while Harry can't perform any magic, Ron and I can." To prove her point, she pulled her wand out and, careful to make sure no one was watching, let out a stream of rainbow-colored bubbles from the tip of it. Harry was quiet impressed; she hadn't even recited the name of the charm to do that, so if anyone did look. They would just assume Hermione's wand was a toy. Vernon, however, had gone straight past his previous stages of paleness and was now almost deathly white. "So you see, you're well within your rights to take Harry home and keep us from going with him, but Ron and I will just turn up on his doorstep tomorrow, anyway. We can do that, you see. That's part of being able to use _**magic**_," she said, emphasizing that -in Vernon's opinion- dreadful word. "As for not letting us in your house, well I'm sure when its dark, we can manage to make a nice little domicile in your backyard; maybe a nice wizarding house with all the attachments, so we'll be comfortable. Right Ron?" she asked, looking at him.

Ron looked confused at first, as he knew very well that he and Hermione could do nothing of the sort. However, a nudge from Harry quickly helped him catch on. "Oh, oh right! A wizarding house, sure!" he said, appearing to go over the decorations and humanities it would need to properly serve its function. "Let's see now… We'd have to have a Wrackspurt… and a Heliopath, those are good for making Fizzing Whizbees. And we can add a few nargles or two, and last but not least we have to have a crumple horned snorkack. They can ward off evil wizards."

Harry struggled to suppress his laughter. Ron was just reciting some of the weird animals that Luna usually went on about, and the sheer peculiarity of their names was enough to actually make Vernon stagger in shock. He was decidedly less collected than he had been a moment ago. "All right then," he said, his voice quiet and quite tremulous. "Boy, get your things together and take your friends to the car. I'm… going to go take care of some business for a moment and then we're going home."  
"Yes, Uncle Vernon," Harry said, trying not to smile. As Vernon went off to try and forget about what he had heard, Harry, Ron, and Hermione broke down into a fit of laughter. After the moment had passed, the three of them gathered there things together and left for Uncle Vernon's car. Harry's spirits were decidedly higher than they had been for the past few weeks- if nothing else, he'd have his two best friends to keep him company, and right now he could ask for nothing better.


End file.
